Peaches
by Mazzie May
Summary: It's usually the little things that remind you of the worst things. Sherry suffers through it. Rated T to M, depending on how well you stomach gory details. 'Sticky' fans will enjoy


**Author's Note: Because I needed to do something icky**

**Genre: general/horror/angst  
Rating: T to M, depending on how well you stomach things  
Characters: Sherry, with Claire and Birkin  
Summary: It's usually the little things that remind you of the worst things. **

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**Peaches**  
_By: Mazzie May_

Sherry pushed the sliced peaches around the shallow bowl, trying to hide her grimace. Claire was some where in the living room, looking for something. Everything calmed down, Leon and she had worked out some kind of joint custody thing—only it's not, because she still belonged to Leon and didn't want to belong to Claire anymore, but still wished to visit.

_Don't get sick, don't throw up_, she told herself as she attempted to take a bite, but set the fork back down quietly. _No vomiting. This is a vomit free zone._ She glanced over her shoulder and caught Claire's eye. She smiled and Claire smiled back. Sherry took a bite of peach.

She gagged, but Claire had gone back to doing whatever it is she was doing that made her look away, thank God. The peach slice was lukewarm, squishy and thick, much like the slug the good doctor-she-can't-call-her-father-anymore forced down her throat.

The juice was sweet but that almost made it worse; the taste lingered in her mouth, on her tongue, under her tongue, in between her teeth, along her throat. It was almost solid and not-quite-cool. It felt like the slime that had dribbled out of her mouth as she coughed and chocked against Birkin's fist. The ooze that had stuck to her hands as she wiped at her chin and neck, the slick gunk she couldn't get off her lips, not once, because it kept coming out, because her little stomach couldn't hold all that glop and the creature that swam inside of her.

She couldn't bear to chew the fruit and swallowed it largely. Only a slice, but still whole, it hurt. She fought not to retch, because she knew most of it was in her head, and yet, and yet—

--_Birkin has a hold of her neck, squeezing the top to make her open her mouth. He doesn't have to; her mouth is already open as she tries to scream._

_No sound comes out though, and she quits trying just like she quit crying, because sometimes you're too scared for tears to matter. He raises his other arm—but it's not an arm, is it?—and presses purple fingers and palm over her face. She can feel the blood bumping through the veins and the muscle pulsating beneath the dripping skin. It feels strange, as her blood rhythm is thumping far more quickly and much harder. _

_She hears something separate wetly, pulling back, and something begins squealing, small worm-like things whipping against her lips and teeth. The noise in her throat is strangled as the bloated, chewy thing moves in her mouth. It hurts, it burns its way down as she begins to black out._

_Her throat held so tight, she can't breathe. The farther the thing wriggles in, the more her eyes begin to roll back and the blackness becomes warm and she can't remember why she hurt so bad to begin with. One more pump of sludgy goo from Birkin's palm, sending the creature all the way down and she goes limp from shock, fear, pain and lack of air._

Sherry pushed the bowl away. Claire appeared beside her. "Something wrong?"

Sherry wanted to shrug it off, but she was pretty sure she was shaking. "Cold," she half-lied.

Claire watched her curiously as she pulled the hoodie off and handed it gently to Sherry, her expression helpful. Sherry's smile was almost rueful as Claire nodded and moved away again, out of the room.

Sherry pulled the warmth that smelled like Claire over her short self and hugged her arms, staring down at the sliced peach. Put the slices back together, and it'd be the same sizes as that thing. Wincing, she stabbed another piece.

She took the thing down whole once. This was nothing.

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** Author's Note: I wrote something a little while ago that I'm not exactly proud I wrote. 'spose that's what I deserve for agreeing to write someone something before asking what it is they wanted. At their request, it'll posted later. Anyway, I wrote this to make myself feel better. I think excell in this kind of detail, despite this not being very gruesom. Ah, well. It helped me feel good about writing again. Those of you who suffered through 'Sticky' probably enjoyed this.**

**R&R please, any commentary appreciated**


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